Whores Tabula Rasa

her basic identity
f***ed backward
scraped tablet
spotless semen
that never was 

sheets never rolled upon
void of ejaculate that never
came

her social class
reverted to masturbating
the butter churn

at least her hand
was god-pure encircling
the handle of wood not
even closely resembling
uncircumcised wood of
the church as her memory
functioned blank slate

throwing autonomy
in the hamper laundry day
couldn't be accessed until
doc holliday spoke to those
who made their fortune in
the distribution of lies

whores tabula rasa
boomtowns that mushroomed
between her thighs some bigger
than others taking back the blood
of the buffalo-killing fields

wyatt earp
still wearing his
tin star simmering rancor
johnny ringo pale and awash
in grudges dead men make
poor customers

monetary fury
it never was O.K.
the corral was a movie
fantasy

the outlaws
pistol-whipped concussions
as epidemic as imposter men
of the cloth

whores tabula rasa
wiped clean from blowing
three month's wages

a bible-carrying woman
whom out of...doc holliday
was a dentist whom necessity
made a gambler unlike doc she
didn't cough her conscience up
with her lungs she was generous
when she tipped

and then she
came back to her room
and wept...

whores tabula rasa

Copyright Ms. Sage Sweetwater, Celebrity firebrand lesbian novelist